My fingertips graze the softly lit sky, ripping through clouds made upon my arrival.
For I am a guest of most divinity, chosen by the one who will make me holy.
Wings spanning wide at the hips, keep me up through the pink dying backdrop of above.
The world below unseen to anyone, unwanted by anyone.
My halo is missing, I cannot find it, I cannot see the truth without it.
The sky draws dark now, illuminated with friendly regard now visit with intent to seek the unseen.
The pale glow from dusk now settles to a sheet of dark.
I am here, I am alone, I am holy.